


dead dreams and debauchery scenes

by dizzyondreams



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, gross grungy college students aka the best kind of erejean, heterochromiatic eren, insomniac jean au aka every au i ever write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1476133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyondreams/pseuds/dizzyondreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 2am and Jean’s mind is ticking over with deadlines and thoughts of his future and a terrible rising panic about never falling asleep that night, <i>again</i>. </p><p>So he does what any semi-sane person would do in the same situation - he grabs his overfull bag of dirty laundry, and walks two blocks to the nearest laundromat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dead dreams and debauchery scenes

It’s 2am and Jean’s mind is ticking over with deadlines and thoughts of his future and a terrible rising panic about never falling asleep that night, _again_. His eyes are burning from fatigue, and he casts his mind back to think of when he last slept properly, but stops when he starts counting past 48 hours of being awake. He blinks, eyes stinging, and stares up at the bare light bulb in the ceiling, mind blurring with worry. He’s tired, but less sleep-tired and more _body_ tired. Bone tired.

He does what any semi-sane person would do in the same situation - he grabs his overfull bag of dirty laundry, and walks two blocks to the nearest laundromat.

There’s only one person there, a guy who looks about as tired as Jean feels, sat on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes closed. He doesn’t open them when Jean walks in and opens a washing machine to shove his laundry in. It’s very quiet, the only sound is the other guy’s washing going around, the small metallic clink of a zipper and the water rushing. Jean shoves his hands in his pockets, chasing spare change and laying it out on his palm before realising he doesn‘t have enough.

He makes a face, and glances over in the direction the other guy is sat in. He can’t see him over the machine he’s sat against, so Jean rounds the corner until he can. The guy is still sat with his eyes closed, the bags underneath them possibly rivalling Jean’s and screaming three days without sleep. “Hey, sorry man, do you have like,” Jean checks the change in his hand. “twenty pence?”

The guy looks up slowly, and the first thing Jean notices are that his eyes are two different colours. One green, one brown. It’s off-kilter and attractive, and Jean smiles. “Yeah, sure.” He says, and stretches his legs out to dig in his pockets. “Here.”

Jean takes the money with a mumbled thanks, and the guy nods and tucks his legs back up to his chest. 

Crossing back to his machine, Jean turns the coin around in his fingers, thinking. He slots the change in and takes a seat on the floor, watching as the machine fills with water. The white noise of the machines lulls him into a sort of trance, and he stares ahead without focusing, enjoying the momentary emptiness in his mind.

Sometimes the only way that Jean can feel like he has any control over his life is to go down to the laundromat and watch his clothes go around and around in the big industrial washing machines. It’s stupid yeah, but there’s something about the repetition and the noise that’s calming to him. He wonders if the other dude feels the same way, or if he just washes his clothes at strange hours.

Jean’s fingers twitch for a cigarette, but he’d just spent his last money on watching his boxers swish around in grey water, so he drums them against his knees and concentrates on not thinking about exams.

For some reason, Jean finds it hard to zone out like he usually does. Maybe it’s the presence of someone else, or maybe it’s just because he’s done this so many times it’s lost it’s effectiveness. He drums his fingers, scratches over his undercut and decides it’s time for a shave, thinks about the guy’s mismatched eyes.

He kneels, then stands, because his mind won’t stop whirring with someone else present. The guy is still in the same position, ratty flannel shirt tucked around his thin-looking body, skinny legs pressed to his chest. Jean raps on the lid of the machine, and the guy looks up, startled. 

“Hi.” Jean says, and thinks that he looks better under the fluorescent lights than anyone has any right to. It’s a sickly green and washes his dark skin out, but he looks good. 

“Hello.” He says in a voice that sounds like too many cigarettes and too many late nights. “D’you need more money?”

Jean feels himself flushing, embarrassingly, and shakes his head. “Nah, um, I’m just. What’s your name? I’ve never seen you here before.” There’s still the barrier of a row of washing machines between them, and Jean wants to cross it, sit next to the guy and share the mutual silence. 

The guy looks surprised, those lovely mismatched eyes slightly guarded and glazed with tiredness. Jean can relate - his eyelids feel like sandpaper. “Eren, it’s Eren.” He pauses, and seems to remember Jean asked another question. Jean can practically see the cogs going in his head. Again, Jean can relate. “I’ve only just started coming here.”

“I’m Jean.”

“Hi,” Eren says again, then he pats the space next to him. “Wanna sit?”

Jean sits, the hard floor cold underneath him, and mirrors Eren’s position. They don’t say anything for a few seconds, the silence easy between them. Jean’s watches Eren’s washing go around, sees the hoodie with the zip making the clinking noise. Something about having a warm body next to him is doing the trick of slowing his brain down, and his eyelids droop as his mind settles and slows.

“So what are you doing in a sketchy laundromat at,” Eren checks his watch. “Almost three in the morning?” His tone is lighter than his expression, and Jean lets his head rest back against the machine he’s sitting against and sighs. 

“Insomnia, I’m always down here.” He laughs then, and is surprised at how worn-out it sounds. 

“I feel that.” Eren says easily, and laughs too. “School keeps me up all night.”

Jean stretches out his hands in front of him, pallid in the unhealthy light. He cracks his knuckles. “Same, I’ve got deadlines coming up and. Wow. Failure, right?”

Maybe it’s because it’s 2am, maybe it’s because Jean hasn’t slept in over 48 hours, maybe it’s because he’s so incredibly attracted to Eren even in the awful light of the laundromat, but Jean wants to tell him everything. He wants to tell him about his fears of the future, the midterms he failed, how he’s thinking about dropping out of university or worse.

He tips his head to the side and catches Eren nodding, his eyes faraway. He’s got a good profile, a strong jaw and an upturned nose. Even his lips look good. He catches Jean looking, and runs his hand through his thick mop of hair and smiles a little, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly. Jean looks away, cheeks burning.

“I failed my midterms.” Eren mutters, and twists his hands together in the space between his chest and his legs. He gives Jean a sidelong glance that he sees out the corner of his eye. Eren lingers a little on the glance, and Jean tries to school his features into something more neutral. 

“Me too.” Jean says, and stretches his legs out in front of him, grimacing as his joints crack. “Uni is harder than I thought it’d be.”

“Girls and partying, right?” Eren grins, and Jean notices his eye teeth are slightly crooked. There is something off-kilter and bewitching about Eren, and it isn’t just his eyes. The set of his shoulders in his washed thin flannel, tense and tightly wound. The way he can't keep still - cracking his knuckles, tapping his feet. He feels like a ball of kinetic energy, and it's wearing Jean out just being next to him. “Too bad it’s mostly mental breakdowns in the library and trying to catch sleep on the train.”

There’s a soft click from Eren’s machine, signalling the wash is finished, and Eren stands to pull the wet clothes out. He’s taller than he looks, all folded up on the floor, and he’s got a skinny ass that Jean watches as he bends to gather an armful of clothes.

“What’re you doing?” Jean asks, mostly to keep the conversation going. Eren is surprisingly easy to speak to, and he’s effectively keeping Jean’s mind off his craving for a smoke.

“History.” Eren answers, and shoves his load into the drier before digging some coins out of his pockets and slipping them in. He rejoins Jean on the floor and it’s Eren mirroring Jean’s position now, skinny legs in torn up jeans stretched out in front of him. “What about you?”

“Film.”

It’s silent then, apart from the machines and Eren’s fingers tapping out an insomniac’s restlessness on the floor. Jean wonders if Eren’s mess of hair smells of cheap drugstore shampoo or whether he hasn’t washed it in a couple of days like it looks. He wonders if the lingerie he saw Eren loading into the drier was his or whether it was his girlfriend’s. The silence stretches. Jean’s head is a mess of exams and deadlines and failure and insomnia and he knows he’s staring but he can’t stop, even when Eren looks over and catches him looking for the second time.

“Are you alright?” He asks, in that chainsmoker rasp, and his fingers skitter into the space between them. “You look kinda rough.”

Jean feels kinda rough, but it’s okay. He nods, and glances at Eren’s hand between them, then back to the drier, brain glazing over slightly. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He looks again at Eren, wonders if he’ll see him again, wonders if Eren will avoid this place now because of the weird guy who struck up an uninvited conversation with him. “Are you okay?” He asks, half because he feels like it’s the right thing to say in that moment, and half because he wants to know.

“Nah, but I’ll be fine.” Eren’s dark circles look like bruises in the flickering fluorescent light, and Jean is struck by the sudden urge to kiss him. He stares, surprised, because he’s never felt such a strong urge to kiss someone before. It’s almost physical, how badly he wants to scrape over the stubble on Eren’s jaw and find out how his body feels underneath that ratty flannel shirt.

Eren’s looking back at him with an expression like he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and maybe it’s the 48 hours plus that Jean’s been awake for, but he feels a heavy sort of tension settle into the air between them.

“So you come here a lot?” Eren says, at the exact time that Jean says, “Are you seeing anyone?”

It’s with a dreamy sort of horror that Jean realises what had just come out of his mouth. Eren looks amused, thank god, and Jean finds himself blushing hotly and stuttering out an apology.

“Jesus, sorry, shit. That just came out.”

Eren is laughing and slides a little closer into the space where his hand had been. His shoulder and thigh are warm against’s Jean’s, and he finds himself relaxing by increments. Eren shakes his head, and Jean feels like he looks a little more awake, a little more present, than he had.

“It’s okay.” He says, and laughs again. His crooked teeth are white against his dark skin, and Jean finds himself grinning back. The skin on his face feels like old leather, but he smiles through the exhaustion, even laughs when Eren does. “I’m single. I’m not seeing anyone.”

Jean coughs, embarrassed, still smiling. “Good, that’s. I’m glad. I mean...we should get coffee some time.”

He feels Eren nod beside him, and Jean tips his head to the side to see his expression. He’s smiling a small, quiet smile, lips pressed together to keep it from breaking into a full blown grin. He catches Jean looking, and his gaze skitters down to Jean’s lips, to his throat, before returning to his eyes. “Sounds good.” Eren says in a soft voice, the buzzing hum of the fluorescent lights a constant backdrop to their voices.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the clothes go around in the drier, the white noise hum of the washing machine clearing Jean’s mind. His own load clicks to an end, and he leaves Eren for a moment before returning to shove his wet clothes into the drier next to Eren’s. He closes the door and makes a face, half turning to where Eren’s grinning up at him from the floor.

“You need money?”

Jean shrugs uncomfortably, but takes the handful of change Eren holds out for him.

“I’ll pay you back.” He mutters as he slips the coins in.

“Buy me a coffee and we’re even.” Eren says, and laughs when Jean drops some money, flustered.

“Okay, deal.” Jean says as he takes his seat next to Eren again, their shoulders bumping as he makes himself comfortable on the hard lino floor.

“Deal.” Eren mutters, and they lapse into tired silence again.

Jean still wants to kiss Eren. On the gross floor of some grungy Laundromat at past three in the morning, he wants to take Eren’s face in his hands and kiss him until their lips are sore. He tugs on a stray piece of thread on his hoodie, ignores how he can feel Eren’s gaze burning into the side of his head. Maybe if he turned his head to catch Eren’s eye, maybe then he could kiss him. His heart beats fast at the thought, so he turns his head before he can pysch himself out. 

Eren’s got his head tipped back against the machine he’s slumped against, and the curve of his mouth is lazy and amused. His gaze reminds Jean of a wild cat, or a wolf. Something fierce and strong and calculating. Jean leans closer, cups Eren’s jaw and tilts his face up, kisses him like he needs it.

Jean’s not really sure how it happens, but his hands are in the warm space between Eren’s flannel and his t-shirt, and Eren’s hands are twisted in his hair, his mouth warm and open under his. They kiss until Eren is making little gasping noises against his lips, and Jean's head is pulsing with breathlessness. When they break apart, Eren is still leaning against the machine, his posture slack and lazy. His lips look well-kissed, and Jean presses his lips to the rapid beat of his pulse in his throat, just to check that he's real. Jean has twisted himself up into an awkward position, all curled against Eren's side, but he doesn't move, just blinks slowly at Eren, brain still working to catch up.

Jean's head is swimming with the thrill of kissing someone new, of having the taste of Eren on his lips, the feel of his hard, lean body through his clothes still lingering on his fingertips. He kisses him again, because he can, because they're the only ones awake for miles around, even with the dawn swallowing up the night. Eren's receptive, not taking control, just going along with Jean, pressing himself up against his body and breaking the kiss with a grin.

"You're impatient." He mutters, and tugs Jean down for another kiss, pushing against him until Jean just lets himself be kissed. Eren makes an appreciative noise against his lips, and braces a hand against Jean's chest to seperate them slightly. They stare at each other for what seems like a very long time, Eren's mismatched eyes bright in the sickly green light.

"You've got nice eyes." Jean says dumbly, because he can't think of anything better to say, because his blood is racing, making thought difficult and sluggish.

Eren laughs and tips his head back, exposing the long, tan line of this throat to Jean. "Yeah, I guess so." He says, and gives Jean a sidelong look. "That's why you were staring earlier, then?"

Jean clears his throat and shakes his head, fingers twitching in his lap with the desire to touch Eren again. "No, I mean...I didn't see them at first. You were alone and you looked nice, I guess." He finishes lamely. "Shut up!" He exclaims when Eren laughs.

"It's fine." Eren mutters, and turns to unzip the front pocket of his rucksack. Jean watches curiously. "I actually - hang on - I actually wear glasses." He smiles as he draws a pair of glasses out of his bag and slips them on, passing a hand through his hair to push it away from his face. It flops back over his forehead - overgrown and shaggy. Jean's too busy staring at him. "Pretty dire, right?" Eren laughs and moves to pull them off, but Jean stops him.

"No, you look good." He says, and means it. They're round, tortiseshell. Jean likes them. Eren rolls his eyes, laughs, but keeps the glasses on.

Jean smiles at him, kisses him, leans back against the washing machine behind them. He's really glad that he decided to take his laundry down. Eren's drumming his fingers again, that same insomniac's restlessness, still sitting there even though his clothes are dried and waiting for him. Jean's never felt so right in his life, sitting in a dirty laundromat with a boy with eyes like green and gold fire next to him and the taste of him still on Jean's lips. Jean can feel his brain slowing and settling into a kind of peace he can associate with sleep, and the thought of going back to his dark dorm and burrowing into his bed seems very attractive to him right now. Waking up and meeting Eren for coffee, waiting on his call, nervous to text him first -

"Can I get your number?" Jean asks slowly, and Eren digs in his bag for a pen and a reciept. Jean watches him scrawl it down, grimaces at the thought of trying to decipher that chicken scratch later on. "I'm exhausted." He mutters as Eren writes his name at the bottom and hands the reciept to him. "Thanks." He traces the paper where Eren has pressed too hard and made intents through to the other side. "I'll text you mine."

"Sure." Eren says amicably into the sudden silence of the laundromat as Jean's drier clicks to a finish. "That's you."

They rise at the same time, and this is the first time Jean's stood next to Eren. He's a little shorter than Jean, has to reach on his tiptoes to kiss him. Still skinny, broad across the shoulders. Jean presses a kiss to his chapped lips before breaking away to fetch his bag to fold his clean clothes into.

They linger awkwardly, Jean watching Eren stuff his clothes haphazardly into his backpack. He looks away when Eren fishes several pieces of lace out of the drier, and feels himself flush when he realises that Eren doesn't have a girlfriend.

"Well, this is the weirdest late night clothes washing sesh I've ever had." Eren says brightly, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Jean nods and shuffles his feet, feeling awkward and tall and very aware of his movements all of a sudden. Is he holding his arms weirdly? Is he hunching his shoulders? Marco told him to stop doing that, made him look like Quasimodo, but then again Marco's always making comments like that, he's probably overthinking but...

Eren tugs him down for another kiss, and Jean feels himself relax. When they break apart, Jean scrubs his hand over his face and smiles tiredly. "Me too."

It's still dark when they step out of the laundromat, but the sky is lightening slightly, a pale wash of pink tinged with orange. Jean squints up at it, then at his watch. 

"I'll call you later, okay?" Eren grasps onto Jean's forearm, and offers him another crooked smile when Jean looks down, startled. He's tired enough that his mind is wandering, and all he can really think of is getting into bed and finally closing his eyes. 

"Promise?" He manages, and Eren scrunches up his nose, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. 

"Nah, actually, now I think of it..." He catches Jean's expression, and he laughs again, fingers squeezing Jean's forearm companionably. "Joking, I'll call you. Coffee, right?"

"God, you're an asshole." Jean says, and punches him lightly in the chest. They linger like that, until Jean spreads his palm flat on Eren's chest, feeling the feather-light thrum of his heart beneath his washed-thin t-shirt.

"I've heard that before." Eren murmurs, and Jean tightens his hand in Eren's shirt to pull him close for one last kiss. He can feel the restlessness draining out of him as he kisses Eren, and when they part his mind is as calm as a lake.

"Call me." He says one last time, calling after Eren's figure as he walks away from him. Eren half turns and holds his hand up, grinning. Jean waves, and watches as the pre-dawn darkness swallows Eren up.

He walks the rest of the way back to his dorms in a daze of green and brown eyes and the heartening prospect of coffee with a possible figment of his imagination. He snorted and shook his head at himself. Like he could even make up someone like _him_.

**Author's Note:**

> heterochromatic eren is slowly becoming A Thing and i'm. really glad. so i thought i'd hop on the bandwagon and write my own....
> 
> hope u enjoyed!


End file.
